Winter's Ghost

by Mary Stone

  Lips pursed, Linda nodded as she and her daughter stepped aside. “Come on in. We can chat in the living room. Can I get either of you anything to drink?”

  “You should take her up on that,” Lucy said from the foot of a stairwell. “Mom’s lemonade is the shit. And she just made some.”

  “Thanks, Lucy,” Linda returned. As she waved a dismissive hand, her daughter grinned and made her way up the steps. “But yes, agents. If you’d like some lemonade, I’d be happy to share. Why don’t we just head to the kitchen and talk in there.”

  “Kitchen’s my favorite room in the house,” Noah replied with a grin.

  “Smart man,” Linda commented, waving an appreciative finger.

  “This is a nice place,” Winter said as they followed Linda into the sun-drenched kitchen. “Is it just you and your daughter here?”

  “It sure is,” their hostess replied. “Been that way for about ten years now. I guess marriage just isn’t really my strong suit. Married and divorced three times.” She set a couple glasses atop the granite counter and brushed a piece of golden hair from her face.

  “So,” she said as she pried open the stainless-steel refrigerator door. “What’d that shithead do now?”

  “What?” Noah and Winter replied at the same time.

  “I’m assuming that’s why you’re here,” she answered, shrugging as she filled each glass from a plastic pitcher.

  “You mean Ben Ormund, right?” Noah managed to ask.

  “I do.” Linda nodded. “What’d that prick do now?”

  “No love lost there, huh?” Winter remarked as she took a sip from her glass. “Wow, your daughter wasn’t kidding. This lemonade is amazing.”

  Mid-drink, Noah nodded his agreement. There was a balance between sweet and sour that he didn’t realize could even be achieved with regular lemonade.

  “Thanks. It’s my mother’s recipe. The trick is to make it with simple syrup instead of just sugar. You can put strawberries in the syrup, or raspberries, blueberries, whatever you feel like.” Leaning against the counter, Linda crossed her arms. “And no, there’s definitely no love lost between me and that asshole.”

  “Has he bothered you since you’ve been divorced?” Winter asked.

  “Really?” Linda gawked. “You really don’t know? Are you sure you’re FBI?”

  Noah drew his brows together. “Know what?”

  “Three different times.” She held up three fingers for emphasis. “Three damn times I tried to file a restraining order on that son of a bitch. Not for me, but for Lucy. That bastard is convinced that Lucy is his. He’s got a Ph.D., but apparently, they didn’t have any mathematic requirements for him to get that degree, because he can’t figure out that there’s no possible way she’s his!”

  Linda threw up her hands, a flush pinkening her pretty face.

  “And considering it’s my body, I’d say I’m the expert on the topic, right? But, oh, no.” She laughed, a bitter sound. “Not to Ormund. He’s been trying for the past two years to get a DNA test. And if I wasn’t privileged enough to make the kind of money I do, the financial burden alone would’ve been enough to make me snap. I don’t want my daughter to have to deal with that shit. I tried shielding her from it, but eventually, I had to tell her.”

  “Tell her what?” Winter asked.

  “Tell her that some crazy dipshit thinks she’s his!” Linda closed her eyes and raised both hands to massage her temples. “She knows all about it now, and her father’s known since it started. Even he agrees with me that Ormund’s a damn nutcase.”

  He and Winter exchanged looks of blatant confusion before either of them dared to speak again.

  How in the hell had none of this shown up in the state or federal databases? How had none of the sheriff’s deputies known about Ben Ormund’s harassment of his ex-wife? Were they even at the right house? Was there a different Ben Ormund and Linda Cahill in Newport News?

  “Ms. Cahill,” Winter said, her tone as careful and measured as Noah had ever heard. “Where were you last night between eight and ten?”

  “Last night? It’s the last week before school starts, so I took a few days off to spend with Lucy. We went to a movie last night, and we didn’t get home until around eleven. It was a long one, the new Tarantino movie.”

  If awards existed for “coolest mom,” Noah thought that Linda Cahill would be a fierce competitor.

  “Why? Wait, if you’re not here because of all his court-ordered DNA test bullshit, and you’re not here about the restraining orders I’ve tried and failed to get, then what’s going on?”

  “Ben Ormund is dead,” Noah said, ripping the bandage off quickly. “He was shot and killed last night.”

  That seemed to take a little heat from Linda’s sails, but only for a second. The moment the surprised had passed, Linda smiled. “Well, I’ll be honest, agents. I didn’t kill him, but I’m sure as hell not sad he’s gone.”

  “Were you ever in the military, Ms. Cahill?” he pressed.

  “No.”

  “Law enforcement?”

  “No. I’m a real estate lawyer. So, unless that counts, then no.”

  “Are you familiar with a Barrett M98B?” He already knew the answer, but he felt obligated to ask.

  “No. Look, do I need my lawyer?” She raised an eyebrow as her expression turned skeptical.

  “No,” he answered with a shake of his head. “But would you mind telling us what you know about Paula Detrick? If that name’s familiar, I mean.”

  At the mention of the young woman, the sass on Linda’s unlined face was abruptly overshadowed by a dark cloud. “What? Is someone finally going to actually investigate that poor girl’s disappearance?”

  “What do you mean, disappearance?” Winter prodded.

  “Exactly what it sounds like. My shithead ex-husband assaulted that poor girl, and then she went missing. Everyone said she moved to the West Coast, but hell if I know where they got that idea from.”

  “You and Ben were married at the time, weren’t you?” Winter asked. “Paula made the report twenty years ago, and you and Ben’s divorce wasn’t final until three years after that.”

  Whatever melancholy had come over her was pushed aside by the glint of malevolence in her pale eyes. “I’ll tell you what I tell everyone else who says that same thing to me. Yeah, I was married to him for three years after it happened. And yeah, I was perfectly aware of what had happened. But you know what? At the time, I was trying to raise my son from my previous marriage, and I was trying to go to law school. I didn’t have any money of my own. I didn’t have any family, and all my friends were his friends. I was completely dependent on Ben. I didn’t have job experience. I didn’t have anything.”

  Noah was tempted to jump in and ask questions but decided to let the woman rant.

  And rant she did. “But even if I’d had the means, I don’t think either of you understand exactly how terrifying that situation is to a young woman. He’d raped and murdered a perfect stranger, so what in the hell would he do to me? Or my son? There’s not a doubt in my mind that if I hadn’t approached the end of that relationship exactly like I did, if I hadn’t bided my time and waited until I had my JD, that I wouldn’t be here right now.”

  “You were afraid.”

  Linda’s snort was answer enough. She waved a hand. “And this, you coming here, investigating Ben’s death, that’s just great. You know, I thought about practicing criminal law, but I’m glad I stuck to the boring real estate. Because I don’t think I’d be able to handle dealing with shit like this on a daily basis. Like I said, I didn’t kill him. But if you find whoever did…” she pushed to her feet, “tell them I said thanks.”

  18

  Just as soon as Cassidy had taken a seat behind her desk, the retort of knuckles against the metal doorframe sounded out. She bit back a sigh and rubbed the bridge of her nose.

  “It’s unlocked. Come in,” she announced.

  As Max Osbourne stepped into the roo
m, Cassidy could swear the temperature dropped by at least five degrees.

  His slate gray eyes were alight with suspicion and ire, but as the door latched behind him, he still didn’t speak. Cassidy had worked with the man for close to three decades, and she knew that look.

  She had seen that glint of righteous indignation before. The storm that brewed behind that glint could sink ships and reduce entire cities to rubble. Tightening her grip on a ballpoint pen, Cassidy scooted forward in her seat to brace herself for the category five shitstorm coming in her direction.

  Her decision to leave Max out of the initial discussion about the possibility of Agent Sun Ming as their prime suspect had been purposeful.

  It would have made sense to include Ming’s boss in the dialogue, but the group in the Violent Crimes Division was tight-knit. Max was protective of the agents under his command, and while the quality was admirable, Cassidy suspected his loyalty would only hinder a thorough review of Ming’s activity in recent months.

  To be sure, she hadn’t intended to keep the news from him for long, and his presence in her office this afternoon was more or less expected.

  “Have a seat, SAC Osbourne,” she said after a prolonged silence.

  Crossing both arms over his black suit jacket, the SAC shook his head. “I’ve been sitting all day. I’m fine.”

  Cassidy bit back a sigh as she nodded. “Understood. What can I help you with, Osbourne?”

  He narrowed his eyes. “You’re smart, Ramirez. I’m sure you already know why I’m here.”

  “You’re here about Agent Ming.” Cassidy twirled the pen between her fingers.

  More than almost anyone else in the entire Richmond FBI office, she respected Max Osbourne. She knew he could have ascended to the Associate Deputy Director spot, but the position had never been his goal. He had a knack for bringing out the best in the agents under his tutelage, and that was where he had decided to stay.

  But as shady as Cassidy felt for keeping such a volatile piece of information from him, she knew she had done what was best for the bureau, and for the victims.

  The victims.

  Two rapists and a mass murderer.

  She pushed the thought to the back of her mind as she met SAC Osbourne’s intense stare. No matter their crimes, the three men had all been murdered, and the FBI had a duty to investigate their deaths.

  “I’m here about Agent Ming,” Max said when she didn’t elaborate. “And I’m curious why I’m just now learning about this when it seems like the inquiry into her has been ongoing for at least a couple days.”

  “No one other than an internal investigator and I knew about it until this morning. I needed to look over everything before I could make a decision to establish Agent Ming as a suspect. I’ve looked it over, and I’ve made my decision.”

  “Yeah? When did you plan to tell her about it?” Max shot back.

  “Soon, but we need to finish gathering and processing evidence from the newest crime scene. Until then, I expect you’ll keep this to yourself.”

  Cassidy’s tone didn’t so much as falter. High stress conversations weren’t new territory for her, and she’d learned long ago that any display of weakness during a tense dialogue was like the scent of blood to a shark.

  “You know I will. But I’d like to know, do you have any hard evidence, or is it just a pile of circumstantial bullshit?”

  She clenched her jaw before she replied. “We’re looking for someone with a very specific set of skills. Someone who’s familiar enough with crime scene investigation to ensure nothing’s left behind, and I mean nothing. And on top of that, we’re looking for someone who can hit a target between the eyes from almost a mile away.”

  The muscles in Max’s jaw popped, and she knew he knew what she was going to say next.

  “Aside from the tactical team, all of whom have alibis for at least one of the murders, there are only four people in this entire office that are capable of making a shot like that. Three of them also have alibis. Agent Ming is the only one without an alibi for any of the deaths. She was in Norfolk yesterday, and the victim killed that night was in Newport News.”

  “She was there with Agent Brandt,” Max returned. “And they left together.”

  “Only after they went to the local PD to talk to them about Anne Timson’s case.”

  “That’s what they should have done.”

  “You’re right. But based on what I’ve heard from the Norfolk PD, Agent Ming took a particular interest in the case. She was overly critical, and one of the detectives said that her attitude bordered on outright hostile.”

  “She should have been,” Max spat. “Have you seen the Timson case, Ramirez? Have you seen the detectives’ notes from when they took her statement?”

  He paused as if he expected her to respond, but he went on before she could speak.

  “Anne Timson was sexually assaulted and escaped from a lunatic who went on to kill God only knows how many more women, and when she reported her assault to the Norfolk PD, they all but laughed her out of their office. Drunk college girl, probably hooked up with an older guy and regretted it later. I think that’s almost verbatim what their notes said.”

  Cassidy nodded. He wasn’t wrong.

  “They didn’t take any of what she said seriously until another girl disappeared a few months later. But by then, Anne was across the country in boot camp for the Navy. I know your values well enough to know you don’t buy into that kind of victim blaming bullshit. Nobody in this office buys into that shit, especially not Agent Ming. I think that’s pretty plain to see given her work so far to investigate the person who killed these three sorry excuses for human beings.”

  “That isn’t our job to—”

  The SAC held up a hand, his face growing redder. “Because if there are any victims that deserve to be blamed for what happened to them, they’re Tyler Haldane, Ben Ormund, and Mitch Stockley. Agent Ming took a bullet for this office, and if she hadn’t been there to make that shot and take out Kent Strickland, a hell of a lot more people would’ve died.”

  “I know what Agent Ming did,” Cassidy said with a stiff nod. “And she was highly commended for it. But a traumatic event like that can bring out a different side to a person. I’ve seen it happen before, and I know you have too. Sun has gone off on her own before. During the Presley investigation, she kept a key piece of information to herself so she could be the one to close the case. We have to look at the context here, Max. We’re not throwing her in a prison cell yet, all right? She’s a suspect, not a defendant.”

  The seconds ticked away as Max kept his glare locked on hers, but Cassidy didn’t balk. She had no idea how long they stared one another down, but she suspected close to a minute had passed by the time he finally spoke.

  “Fine,” he grated. “Keep me updated and let me know if there’s anything I can do to help. And I will help because I know that Agent Ming didn’t do any of this.”

  19

  The recollection was so vivid that Sun could smell the faint aroma of fried food and cookies as it wafted over from the nearby food court. She’d never set foot into the Riverside Mall before that day, but whenever her sleeping brain took her back to that night, she felt like she had returned home.

  Not the type of home that welcomed and provided shelter, but the type of home where a piece of her had been broken and left behind. The type of home that had changed everything. Almost like it was a monument or a shrine, a revered place where only a select few could set foot.

  But it wasn’t a privilege to go to this home. It was an obligation, a reminder, and a testament to her failure.

  Sun knew she was in a dream, but no matter the effort she put into waking herself, she always witnessed the first part of the exchange.

  The mannequins in the windows of the boutique clothing store were dressed in the newest spring styles, and on a normal day, Sun might have paused to consider the looks.

  Tonight was far from normal, however, and her attention
was fixed on the line of people seated on the polished floor in front of the shop. Their hands had been bound behind their backs, and the same hallowed look darkened each of their faces.

  Even from the distance where she’d crouched behind the ceramic pot of a decorative tree, she could see the malevolence in the eyes of the only two people who stood upright.

  Each was clad in a Kevlar vest, a dated camouflage jacket, and matching cargo pants. But amidst the unremarkable shades of olive drab, a red armband stood out in stark contrast. In the center of the band was the SS insignia used by Nazi officers during World War II.

  Bobby Weyrick was hunched down behind another tree on the opposite side of the wide hall, an M4 Carbine tucked tight against his shoulder.

  When his eyes snapped up to hers, she knew they were out of time.

  The corridor in which they hid sloped downward from the two gunmen and their hostages, but at any other angle, there hadn’t been adequate cover to conceal their movements. If they had come in through the boutique, they would have been spotted almost immediately.

  Maybe, if the damn mall had been two stories, Sun could have gone to the second floor with a couple members of the SWAT team to get a clean shot at one of the two men.

  But she knew that Tyler Haldane and Kent Strickland had meticulously planned their offensive. They chose the front of the boutique because it bordered a security station that sported footage from each camera throughout the entire premises, and the store itself was open and had no alcoves or barriers behind which a law enforcement agent could hide.

  They were at a tactical disadvantage in more than one way. Not only were they downhill from the hostages and the captors, but there was no way for them to advance for a clearer shot without making themselves an easy target. And as the two gunmen strode back and forth in front of the captives, they needed a clearer shot. If the angle was off, if they missed, the bullet was likely to hit a civilian.

  But they were out of time.

  The crack of a gunshot ripped through the uneasy quiet of the building like a machete through jungle foliage. A handful of terrified cries followed, and when Sun dared a glance past her cover, another shot rang out.